


In Dark Times

by theheartofadetective



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Walking Dead AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartofadetective/pseuds/theheartofadetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly had been together for over a year just before it happened, before everything happened. People became ill, and at first it just seemed like a pandemic, but no one had any idea what the cause. Walking Dead AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dark Times

Sherlock and Molly had been together for over a year just before it happened, before everything happened.

People became ill, and at first it just seemed like a pandemic, but no one had any idea what the cause.

Bodies rolled so fast into the morgue that the staff could not keep up. Molly usually did the post-mortems on suspected murders and suicides, but under the circumstances, there were bigger problems to deal with. Everyone was to take bodies that were from the illness that still did not have a name.

Molly was not stupid though, she noticed the puncture wound in every one of their heads. She later found out that it was to cut off brain function. That did not work for long though, a physical wound to the head was necessary as the disease progressed.

Mycroft knew what had been going on, and being a member of the government, he helped to try and keep everything under wraps.

He should have told Sherlock though, knowing Molly’s occupation.

The way that Sherlock, Molly, and John found out was when Molly was attacked one day at the morgue. She was only lucky enough that Sherlock and John had been there that day.

It was only a few days after that that Mycroft was evacuating them. Along with Sherlock, Molly, and John were Mary and Lestrade. Mrs Hudson was brought to a secret facility that also kept Mummy safe; a sanction for the elderly.

Mycroft was originally told that America was safer than Europe, but at that point nowhere was safe.

Walkers. That was the name people had come up with.

Everyone had changed. Mycroft, who had made his secret service of men do his dirty work, learned to fight, to defend himself from _them_.

Sherlock caught on quick, but was quiet for a long time; he had not understood the logic, had not had time to find out why. He had made it his last case and it had to be left incomplete when leaving London. He had begun to deduce the lives of the walkers by what they were still wearing and other details so that his mind remained sharp; it was how he dealt with the situation.

Lestrade and John were already good with guns, but they quickly learned the sensitive nature of sound and that it attracted more of them. They all learned, all of them to fight and defend themselves with knives; close ranged weapons got them through life, or what was left of it.

It bothered Molly more than anyone; killing people. Dead bodies and examining them was her specialty but not like this. Not putting them out of a misery for a second time. She knew the walkers were not even shadows of who they were before, but Molly always had a way of seeing people differently after they were dead. For her, it had always been different. At one time they were living, breathing humans with families just like the rest of them. It saddened her, and she was always on her toes because of it.

Especially after they met Rick and his family, it frightened her further to hear how many they had lost even though they had gained. Molly felt her newly constructed family was lucky that they had not lost anyone yet.

Molly and Sherlock were out looking for parts now. The vehicles needed to be fixed for them to move on, so they were trying to find parts. They were stuck on foot for the time being.

They received radios from Rick so they could communicate with the rest of the group, but Molly was given something more special and personal. When Daryl realised how much Molly hated being up close to them, he gave her his old bow.

As they walked along the field, they did so in silence. Molly wanted to go with him, but she was not exactly in the best spirits with him.

The two heard grunts and groans not too far behind them.

When they turned, there were five walkers coming towards them. Molly pulled out her crossbow and aimed steadily. She managed to hit two of them before they were in close reach; she had learned from Daryl quickly.

One went after Molly, while the other two after Sherlock. He placed himself in front of her, closer to them on purpose, to protect her.

Molly hesitated for only a second before letting the knife bash into the skull of the walker before her.

Sherlock managed to kill one of them, but was caught off guard. When Molly turned, she saw the second walker only inches from Sherlock, it’s teeth bared and ready to bite.

In a daring act, purely on instinct, Molly wrenched it away from him and pushed it to the ground. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he watched her. Molly was always been so afraid being near them, even to be close up to kill them.

The fear was replaced with something else as Molly pinned its arms to the ground with her knees, forcing it still as she stared down at it with ferocity, almost animalistic as primal instinct took hold of her.

“Did it hurt you?” Molly asked, not removing her eyes from the soulless creature below her.

Sherlock hesitated in shock. Normally he would never do that, but he had not seen this side of Molly before. He only wondered why Molly hesitated in killing it.

Molly’s eyes went wide. “Sherlock,” her voice cracked hard, pierced with worry, in desperation, half laced in anger.

“No,” he said as his eyes flickered from Molly to the walker.

Molly stuck the knife in the creature’s skull. She moved the blade several times into the corpse before she felt Sherlock’s hand on her shoulder. “Molly…”

Molly stood up and shoved the knife back into its secure place without wiping the blood off. He could see how her body shook, her eyes glassed over.

She wanted to hug Sherlock, just glad he was okay. She wanted to kiss him and hold him, and feel that he was there, but she was so overwhelmed that she remained silent.

Ever since she heard the stories from Rick, it was more real that she could lose Sherlock. For a fleeting second, she thought she had. It felt like water built up in her ears, like she was drowning.

“I don’t want to know this time,” her voice came out broken and strangled. She shrugged her shoulder away from Sherlock’s touch; she would have liked to curl in on herself on the ground right there.

Sherlock always deduced them out for her, as much as he could figure out at least. She liked being reminded of them having a family; almost as if she gave them a second chance at peace. This time was different, she didn’t care. Whatever it was, it was not human, it did not feel, and it tried to take Sherlock away from her. She couldn’t know.

It didn’t help that she had been angry with him. He wanted to go alone this time, again. The last time he went off by himself, he had almost gotten killed. Molly knew that he pretended that he did not, and he still did not learn.

When they returned to camp, John could sense the tension as Molly walked a few feet in front of Sherlock, a pensive look on her face.

“Hey John,” she said quietly as she walked over to Lestrade and handed him the parts. After that she busied herself, trying to help make dinner.

* * *

 

When Sherlock entered the tent, Molly’s back was turned as she tried to rearrange things to get ready for bed. He could hear her small sniffs and she kept herself turned away.

She felt his hand on her shoulder and she froze for only a second as she wiped at her eyes.

“What? What do you need?” she asked, sadness and irritation evident in her voice.

“You,” he replied.

“You seem to want to do everything yourself? Why would you need me?” she said bitterly, sarcastically.

“You’re still angry.”

Molly said nothing in reply.

“You are still shooken up about earlier-,” he said, trying to continue on.

“No,” she cut him off, running her hands down her face. “You’re so brilliant, how are you…”she trailed off, letting the sentence hang as she turned to face him.

“Do you get it now?” she asked desperately. “Do you understand that you can’t just go off by yourself? I could barely protect you today-” but he cupped her chin, letting his thumb graze her bottom lip.

When she met his blue eyes, they were intense, boring into her brown ones. Molly’s eyes glassed as tears still ran down her cheeks. “But you did,” he assured her.

“That’s not the point,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch and his hand moved to cup her cheek. She leaned into it, comfort that he was there and alive in front of her. “I can’t,” she began softly. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m right here, Molly,” he said, his eyes drifting closed as he leaned his forehead against hers, her face still cradled in his hands.

The walker had come close to taking him away from her today. She was angry with him before for being stubborn and going off on his own, but this had set her off.

“If something… happens,” she tried to force out, “I’m not continuing on.”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open as his forehead still touched hers. Molly’s eyes remained closed; she was calm about her spoken words, confident despite her crying. “We have created a family, and I love all of them, but you make this life bearable. You make it functional for me, Sherlock. It’s not as if I can hop back into my morgue and move on.”

Sherlock sighed as his thumbs grazed over her cheekbones, accepting her words as she said them. He could not blame her for feeling that way, and as much as he did not want that for her, he understood if that was her choice.

He had not thought about it before, but he did not know how he would react if the situation reversed. He tried to push those emotions out and retained his old self in that way.

“And I’m not the only one that needs you.” She leaned in, touching her nose to his. “So if you’re not going to do it for yourself, stop being reckless for them…” she paused slightly. “For me. _Please_ ,” she pleaded at him as her calm dissipated, a sob released from her throat. She grabbed at the lapels of his jacket and nudged her face against his neck.

“Forgive me” was all he could reply, his voice quiet, but hoarse as he felt her fall apart against him. He leaned back onto the bedding and pulled her to him as she cried against his chest.

He ran his fingers through her hair as she sobbed, the other arm keeping her close, pulling her closer if they were was any space left between them.

She had tried for so long to keep things optimistic, both for everyone and herself. She tried to push out the reality of the intense emotions that came with this life that no one had ever expected, but that would not work forever.

“I’m tired,” she whined into his chest. It was muffled, barely audible through her broken sobs.

He was too, tired of all of this, but how could they logically expect things to change? If Molly had taught him anything, it was that they needed to make the best of what this was, and right now he needed to for her.

* * *

 

_Two weeks later_

The cars had been fixed. The camp seemed to be safe for now so they decided to stay for a bit longer until they could figure out where to travel next. They had also found someone traveling, and with convincing from Molly and Mary, they were allowed to stay.

But as quickly as they gained their new companion to the group, they had lost them. The first member of the group to lose, even if he had only been there for a week or so.

Lestrade and Sherlock had gone on a run for food and supplies, and for them everything ran smoothly.

But when they got back to the camp they saw a pile of walkers ready to be burned. Mary and John were digging a grave for their new member that Sherlock saw lying on the ground with a wound in his head. Amongst the mess they found him being eaten by a walker and had no choice.

Sherlock’s mind was only focused on one thing as he saw everything in disarray. He looked around frantically, but did not see the one person he searched for. His eyes widened as he looked around and John noticed the panic in his features.

“Sherlock,” he called out, but Sherlock did not hear him. The only sound processing in his ears was the muffled sound of crying, of _her_ crying.

He ran over to her. She hadn’t been far from the camp, still in close distance to it. She was only a few feet away, but she was alone. She was crying and Sherlock’s eyes immediately caught the attention of the large scratches on her arm.

“No,” he growled as Molly finally noticed him there. She sat on a log as she looked as she saw Sherlock’s eyes filled with concern, defeat as he kneeled down in front of her. He grabbed onto her arm as he examined it.

“Sherlock, what…” she began confused as she wiped at her eyes. She watched him, but did not remember the cut on her arm; she had found it unimportant.

Blood pounded in his ears as he looked at her with wide eyes. Her attention finally moved from his face to glance at her arm.

She gasped before cupping his face and forced him to look up.

“Sherlock, no,” she said, trying to calm him, to reassure, but her voice broke. She knew what it was like to be on the other side of that situation. “When we were trying to fight them off, I fell over… There was a large branch with thorns. I wasn’t scratched, not by them.” She searched his eyes, trying to get him to see.

It took a moment for him to process her words, but his expression softened.

“You’re crying,” he finally said, his voice strained as he tried to focus on something else and wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“Brian… he…” she began, but she did not need to finish her sentence. Sherlock had already seen and nodded in understanding.

She could see the emotions pouring from Sherlock’s expression. Most others would see it as him trying to put it away. Molly saw differently though, through him; especially now.

She grabbed his hand as she stood up and pulled them further into the woods, away from the camp. They tried not to stay too far, but enough so that they could have privacy; she knew Sherlock would need to be away from everyone right now.

She gently pushed him against the tree, her hands cradling his face again. She pressed her forehead to his. “It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m fine.” She closed her eyes, but Sherlock’s remained open; he still took in the sight of her as she tried to comfort him.

His breath came out hard as he tried to calm. He knew it was irrational to still be upset when knowing she was fine, but he could not bring himself to care. The thought of losing Molly was frightening, almost numbing. He thought it had been real, that it was decided that she was being taken away from him.

He pulled her into his embrace, his arms crushing around her as he buried his nose in her hair. He inhaled, taking in the familiar smoothing scent that was Molly.

There was a bit of moisture in his eyes when Molly pulled back to look at him. He would never make a sound, but a few stray tears fell down Sherlock’s cheeks.

She leaned in and kissed the few tears falling. When she kissed the corner of his mouth, he moved his lips to find hers.

She gasped into his mouth as he kissed her desperately. His hold around her waist, against him, was tight, as if he would not ever be prepared to let go.

His hands moved under her shirt, feeling her skin; it was warm against his hands. He memorised and catalogued everything again. He didn’t need to, but wanted to, he never wanted to forget or delete the way she felt against him. His fingers trailed along her body, the feeling of his mouth on hers, he was encompassed by it.

Molly let a few tears slip down her own cheeks as she moved her mouth on his. It was as if she could feel the scared desperation that was washed over him. He was never good with words, but his actions were always strong.

“I love you, Sherlock,” Molly panted, almost unable to say it with Sherlock barely leaving room for their lips to part. Her fingers trailed into his hair as her hips against his. “I love you,” she whispered again.

Sherlock picked her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He spun them around so she was pressed against the tree. “I love you,” he whispered against her ear several times over, almost as a pleading to her. He did this between the kisses along her jaw, on her neck. Her whole face, whether it was from his hands or mouth, no skin exposed was left untouched.

It almost frightened Molly. She knew under Sherlock’s ability to hide emotion there was an incredibly vulnerable person, but she never seen him this vulnerable before. The intimacy and passion was more intense than she ever felt and she didn’t want to be parted from him as much as he did not wish to be parted from her.

Sherlock and Molly did not care about their surroundings; they only felt that it was the two of them. They had not had a moment like this in so long and they needed each other. Sherlock’s attention grazed along her neck as his grip tightened around her waist.

She ground her hips against him as she moved her head to find hip lips again. Sherlock captured her small mewls, clutching her closer. There was no space left between them, but right now she could not feel close enough.

When they broke away from the kiss, they both panted as Molly nudged her nose against his cheek. “Sherlock, please,” she pleaded, her lips grazing against his ears.

She knew they didn’t need to put themselves in any more danger, and she knew this spot was not the safest, but this was different. It was intense and raw; she needed to feel together with him completely.

It was the same for Sherlock. It was not a matter of sexual drive, it was an emotional need. To feel complete and together, to plead their love in a private moment that no one would bother them.

Sherlock set her on her feet for a moment as they both worked at undoing each other’s pants. Molly slid Sherlock’s down just far enough as he did the same for her. Within an instant, he lifted her up again. She wrapped her legs around him tight as he filled her to the hilt.

Their rhythm was found instantly, as if they knew exactly what the other needed. Sherlock moved into her slowly and thrusted harder each time as she dug her nails into his shoulder.

Sherlock’s sharp movements would not drag this out though. Molly pressed her forehead against his, both of them opening their eyes to gaze at each other. Their lips touched as they shared panting breaths between them.

Molly found one of his hands, lacing her fingers with his. She gazed for a moment at the wedding band on her finger, knowing she would be able to see Sherlock’s if his hand wasn’t busy gripping her waist.

His movements became more erratic as she threaded her free hand in his curls. Sherlock felt Molly’s legs tighten around him as she kissed him again and allowed him to take in her moans.

A few more thrusts from Sherlock was all that it took, his release coming when Molly clenched tight around him.

His movements slowed quickly before he stopped. They rode out the waves as they kissed through their afterglow. Molly’s hand still tugged tightly in his hair, trying to come down from her peak. Her kisses became gentler as he still remained within her, comfortable in their position.

He nudged his nose against hers and noticed her now heavy lids. He pulled out of her as he placed her on wobbly legs. She kept her arms around his neck as he adjust her pants and then his own.

He knew that she was too tired to walk back, so he picked her up in his arms. She nuzzled herself against his chest as he carried her back. He looked down at her, a small smile on his face. Molly had not allowed her to be this vulnerable and comfortable in a long time. Often she was anxious and worried, and no way would she usually let her fatigue stop her from being aware of her surroundings. It was finally one night where they could forget and be their normal selves.

Sherlock met John’s look for a moment before he brought Molly into the tent, assuring John that they were fine.

Molly stirred a bit as she felt herself put down on the bedding and Sherlock laid beside her. She turned to face him, a tired smile on her face. He brought his ringed hand to hold hers, both of them gazing at the matching bands.

“This will get better,” she said softly, but tried to keep confidence within it. “Maybe not for the rest of the world, but for our family, and for us.”

Sherlock watched her as she fell asleep against him, running a hand through her hair. Molly was the only one to convince him to hope that it would get better for everyone. The tiny frame in his arms had so much love for everyone and, in a situation like this, is an important element in trying to establish something bigger and better. 


End file.
